O Holy Night
by Strapless
Summary: There’s more than one way to celebrate Midwinter, but is it too much for Buri to ask that it be done right?


**Disclaimer: **It's probably quite clear that I have no ownership claims to the characters, world, etc. I'm simply playing in the world Ms. Pierce created.

**Author's Notes:** Written for fellow Dovie and author Trisana McGraw for the Dancing Dove's 2006 Midwinter Fic Exchange, who requested Raoul/Buri.

"**O Holy Night"**

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I.

Midwinter wasn't a K'miri holiday. Not the way the Tortallans celebrated it, or the Saren, or the majority of the Eastern Lands for that matter. It was a Mithran holiday, but Thayet was only half K'miri and lowlander custom had overruled anything that wasn't the warlord's way in those dark days of childhood. Drawn along the same reluctant current as the princess, she tolerated the Mithran celebration. Years later, out of Sarain, free of a long-dead warlord, relieved of her duty to Kalasin's daughter, and stuffed and strapped into a red silk dress trapped in a jewel-box of a banquet hall, Buri wondered why she still put up with the monstrous soiree the winter solstice had been turned into.

Royalty, she decided, no matter which country they ruled, were all insane.

For all the similarities a person could point out—feasting, wearing one's finest, exchanging gifts, blessings to the gods—there were just as many things that missed the point. Among the tribes, the midwinter solstice was a time of celebration, of a farewell to the old year and a welcome to the new. All at once, it was a commemoration to ending and death at the year's close and a celebration of birth and renewal as the new year arrived. A time to give gratitude to the Horse Lords for all the good that had come, and a time pray for the solution to the bad. A time to celebrate the herds, the mares round with the promise of new life and young stock half grown into the fierce ponies they equally celebrated. A time to celebrate life in and of itself: new babies, young warriors come of age, marriages, elders retiring from battle-circles to the governance tents, warriors who died in battle, and old friends gone to feast with the gods.

Buri would give anything at this moment for a breath of crisp mountain air, not the choking combination of ladies' perfume, candle smoke, and that gods-be-damned pine. She would much prefer to be trading bawdy tales of the year past over good, strong fermented mare's milk than making inane conversation about the year's trading tallies behind bored sips of admittedly fine wine. Her mind drifted back to the Rider barracks, where the former was likely occurring, although probably with hot spiced cider in place of mare's milk.

If she tried hard enough, she could pretend the roast duck in orange-cinnamon sauce (_Seriously, who comes up with these dishes?_) had been spit-fired beef, smothered in caramelized onions and peppers and rice cooked with fiery spices, the plain bread rolls turned into fried dumplings. The glow of hundreds of candles and lanterns could be the glow of the great fires and torches. If she squinted, the men at arms positioned around the room (_More pretty than practical, really!_) could be tribesmen, readying for contests or boasting of their accomplishments. But nothing could turn the fat baron and his wife across from her into a clan chiefs, nor the banquet hall into the gathering tent, and like bloody Black God's hell Thayet was going to let her go rally the Riders into racing their ponies across the training meadow, no matter how bright the moon was tonight.

She didn't know how Thayet could put up with it, giving up those traditions in exchange for the Tortallan throne. People did silly things when they were in love. Her old friend and ward might put up a good front over any regrets she had, but it was enough to drown Buri in a wave of nostalgia.

That, and a strong irritation at Thayet for making her suffer the Mithran variety of the solstice along with her. She was all for unity among tribeswomen, but this was taking the concept _much_ too far. She choked the experience down in silence, but was comforted by the fact that she wasn't alone. Misery loved company, they said. Unfortunately company was sitting across the hall, two tables to the right, and out of earshot. A lull in the conversation came—something about fishing, although honestly, she felt her dinner companions talked to hear their own voices, not for her reaction. Buri took the opportunity to refill her wine glass, slanting a look in Raoul's direction behind the decanter.

The Knight Commander sat stiff as a board in his seat, one hand squeezing the life out of the stem of his water goblet and the other half-poised to toss the dessert knife into the heart of the nobleman across from him. She smothered a chuckle, thinking Raoul's dinner companions were lucky it wasn't a bread knife, though she didn't doubt that the knight could do major damage with a butter knife alone. Or a fork, even. She wouldn't mind jabbing one of those into the derrieres of her own companions, just for pleasure of hearing them squeak.

The nobleman leaned forward to emphasize some point, and she watched as Raoul did his best to hide an eye roll. Buri was well aware of the smile she had to keep from forming across her lips while she observed. He raised his glass to drink, eyes wandering over the rim, and his gaze met hers. The glass lowered and she let the smile free, inclining her head to mark she'd seen him. Even this far away, the light shone in his night-black eyes when he caught her recognition. Raoul raised his glass just slightly in a surreptitious toast and drank, his eyes never leaving hers. In the moment, Buri's world narrowed down to just Raoul and a surrounding blur made up of golden glow and jewel tones. The rest of the world would have dropped away in an entirely uncharacteristic loss of awareness if it hadn't been for the person clearing their throat next to her.

Buri spun in her seat, a scowl forming at whoever had interrupted her one moment of bliss in the hours-long creative torture session. Miri looked down at her, dressed primly in a Riders' uniform of nearly unheard of good condition. Though her expression was of the utmost seriousness, hands clasped smartly behind her back and feet braced in report stance, her eyebrows rose over dancing green eyes.

Buri narrowed her own eyes at the younger woman.

"My utmost apologizes for the interruption," Miri said so smoothly that Buri suspected Evin had given her the lines and coached her, "but there is an emergency among the Queen's Riders that must be attended to."

"Surely that's what you have an assistant commander for," one of her dinner companions said negligently.

Buri bristled at the man's tone, briefly exchanging a look between the minor nobleman and her Rider.

"This matter requires Commander Tourakom's attention," Miri reiterated, right on cue.

"Oh, nonsense. It's Midwinter, can't you see that, girl?"

Miri didn't so much as blink. "You're really going to want to see to this for yourself, Commander."

Buri was already putting aside her napkin. She glanced at the head table, to where Thayet and Jon were starting to rise. The rest of the room's occupants were pushing back their chairs, following their majesties' lead and preparing to enter the ballroom. Buri grinned, gathering her skirts to stand along with everyone else.

Thayet would never notice.

II.

"Horse Lords bless you, Miri."

The younger woman grinned with too much pleasure for a person bringing news of a dire accident to her commander. "Don't thank me yet," she said as they left the banquet hall along with the mass of Tortall's nobles and notables, separating to sneak down a hallway while everyone else filtered into the adjoining ballroom.

"This isn't a real emergency, is it?" Buri asked, suddenly worried that what she thought was a ruse was truly real.

"Depends on your definition of 'emergency.' "

At that she glanced at Miri and told her, "You need to spend less time with Larse."

Miri shrugged, and Buri saw a private smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I try, but it doesn't work well."

III.

Buri couldn't believe her eyes.

The once-green lawn before the Rider barracks and stables had been completely transformed. While the layer of snow on the ground would ordinarily send the men and women of the Riders inside—not being ones to tough it out if it wasn't necessary—they had chosen instead to gather outside. The green was ringed by flickering torches while a bonfire blazed a safe distance from the flag pole, illuminating the Riders' banner with its glow and casting shadows from the people moving around it. Tables and benches had been dragged from the mess hall. Songs and laughter reached her ears. The ponies were out, the braver souls among the Riders taking their chances bareback. And dear gods, was that a roast she smelled?

A large shadow detached itself from near one of the torches.

"Where did you come from?" she asked, having to tilt her head back to address the former shadow properly.

"Same as you, I suspect," it said, wrapping a warm arm around her cold shoulders and nodding towards the figure that Miri had joined, dressed in the garb of the Own. An equally warm breath blew past her ear and whispered, "Your Riders look better in blue."

"Blasphemy!" she retorted, squinting at her assistant commander. A Player to the last, that one.

She ducked out of the man's grasp, picking up the sodden hem of her dress, and headed for the barracks at as fast a dog-trot as her frozen feet would allow.

"Where are you going?"

"To get out of this blasted dress!" she yelled back.

The shadow grinned and followed.

IV.

Raoul peered into Buri's bedroom when he heard the thump, followed by a string of K'miri words he didn't understand but could guess at the meaning by the tone. He found Buri propped against a bureau, arms contorted behind her back and fingers scrabbling at the laces of her dress.

"Is this how the K'miri practice martial arts?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorjamb.

Buri's lips pulled back in a snarl and she opened her mouth, but before her retort—or another K'miri curse—could come out, her foot slipped on the snow-slickened floor. She caught herself on the bureau and nearly pulled it down on top of herself.

"Help," she managed to get out.

With a chuckle, Raoul stepped forward to pluck her upright. He found the laces and fumbled to untie the knots with his own chilled hands. Completely on impulse, he brushed a kiss across the back of Buri's neck. He heard her gasp and she jumped in surprise. His grip on the laces kept her from getting too far, though.

"Raoul," she said warningly.

"What?" he answered in his best innocent tone. It had worked with Duke Gareth years ago, but he wasn't so sure about its target here. He ran his hands up Buri's back, delighting in the smooth curve of her body and the catch of the silk against his hands. Finding the laces again, he tugged on them. Golden skin peeked out of the widening 'V' created by the separating material.

Absolutely tantalizing.

He couldn't resist.

"Raoul." This time it was a growl.

He raised his head from the trail of kisses he had begun placing down her spine. "Yes?"

"That's enough."

She spun around in his arms and Raoul had to catch the groan that tried to escape his throat. The dress had fallen down off of her shoulders, the front hanging dangerously low. His hands spasmodically tightened around the loose laces at the back and he tried, really tried, not to sneak a peek like a crude teenager.

Buri raised an eyebrow and pulled the dress up. Apparently he hadn't tried hard enough.

"You're going to have to wait," she told him in falsely sweet tones.

He looked down at her in disbelief. "You know, my mother used to tell me that at Midwinter."

"I find it hard to believe your mother would warn you off women."

He pulled her closer and lowered his head, his mouth inches from hers. "No. About presents. Almost the same thing here, really." He tried for a kiss, but somehow she wriggled out of his grasp.

Buri turned a look at him over her shoulder and the dress suddenly dropped to the floor. So did his stomach and any coherent thoughts in his head. It took all his willpower not to step forward.

His reaction wasn't lost on her, and the pleasure of it made the corners of her lips curve upwards.

"Like I said, you're going to have to wait."

V.

It wasn't until she'd had her fill of roasted beef and spiced cider (that tatty duck earlier had done nothing for her appetite), nearly sung herself hoarse on various songs including one she'd never repeat in polite company, trounced half her Riders in pony races across the training meadow, and finally heard that story about her assistant commander and the goat, did she find Raoul.

She stood a hand's width away from him, waiting, until he looked away from the two Riders showing off their shooting skills and down at her. Lit by the bonfire and torches, his dark eyes seemed gleam brighter at her than they had in the banquet hall. His smile was soft, as though seeing her now was the best thing that had happened to him all week. He reached out as she suppressed an excited shiver and pulled her to him. A kiss was pressed into her hair.

"Have I waited long enough?" he whispered into her ear.

She found his hand, twined her fingers around his, and pulled him after her.

Later, when she lay curled into the crook of Raoul's arm, Buri thought sleepily to herself, _Now _that's_ how you celebrate Midwinter!_

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End file.
